Growing Wings
by Ralphie Is A Lord
Summary: Smauglock highschool AU. John needed to find freedom. His new school was a relieving change. Yet, he hasn't realized that he can't run away from problems unsolved. Even his new friend Sherlock can't help him, not to mention hinder him. They will find him, eventually... I might change a genre to romance in the future
1. First

This story would not exist if it weren't for my friend, Kate, who threw out the idea for a premise. So I dedicate this fanfiction to her.

**Thanks Kate**

This story might take a long time for new chapters to be posted, but hang in there. I promise I won't abandoned it!

* * *

First day of school. A new school. John wasn't nervous though. He was actually quite happy. Happy to get away.

Away from the teasers.

The jerks.

The mockers.

The bullies.

He was ready for a fresh start. His move was simple. Sure it was a new house and a new neighborhood, but nothing changed in his family. Or how they though of him. His parents and older sister know him as a nerdy, independent, strong, straight 15 year old who was starting grade 10.

And he liked it that way. His reputation and his grades were excellent and he had lots of ignorant friends. Right up until June.

Then he decided to tell one. That one told another. And the other told the rest. And the rest told the whole school. The whole school told his sister. His sister pretended to be ignorant. John liked that. His sister never brought it up when she got the news.

As for his "friends", John never wanted to speak to them again. They became the teasers, the jerks, the mockers, and the bullies - the enemy. That is why he wanted that new school. That is why he told them. He might not see them ever again. And he new he wouldn't be telling anyone this time. Maybe one day he would tell someone, but it would have to be the one.

John pulled his hand-me-down brown back pack over his shoulder. Ignorance really was bliss, wasn't it. No one knows, no risks. John took the first step towards his new school, finally leaving his new house. To some extent, he did miss his old friends. Thorin had shared quite the few laughs with John. It made him trustworthy. That was a miscalculation.

John kicked a rock on the side walk. It slipped across the frosty way, like a flat rock skipping on the suface of calm water, until it skidded right off the curb and into the gutter. It just reminded John how fast a secret can slip from lips. John saw another stone. He slammed his foot down on it and that rock flew. He watched it glid down the icy walkway with such ease. It rocketed right to the next block, where it slid onto the road. For a moment, John was mesmerized by how far that rock had gone straight - until a car crushed it under its tire.

John crossed the road, jumping over the dirty slush that was mushed to the curbs. He reached the other side of the road and looked up for the first time during his first trek to school.

Baker Secondary; John's new high school. It was an old thing, more of a castle, but didn't seem to be falling apart by any means. In fact, it looked newly renovated, with the new blue paint on the outer walls and sharp white doors and window frames.

Many other kids were beginning to file through the doors, mostly in groups of two and three. It made John feel so out of place, seeing kids laughing and smiling with their life long friends that are so excited to get back to school.

Yes, John was excited, but as he walked through the front doors, the intimidation began to overwhelm him. He began to slow down, looking at the high cieling of the main hall. So many smaller halls branched from all around the central hall and kids were buzzing around, looking for instructions on where to go. John looked up to notice 3 more floors that had barred balconies circling the main hall. John felt pretty small in there. John had never been dubbed "the tallest in his grade", but everyone just felt that much taller here.

"whoa," John mumbled to himself, but the words barely left his tongue as he was bumped from behind. He stumble forward, then turned to see what had happened, taking one step back that he was about to regret taking.

"ah!" John lifted his right foot and saw a glimps of another retract from beneath. He turned back around to see a dark girl with frizzy, but tame, curly hair. John wasn't surprised to be looking up at her.

"I'm sorry," was his immediate reaction. At first she scowled, but saw the anxious expression on his face, and loosened up with a put on smile.

"that's ok. I'm Sally. I'm in grade 10. Are you one of the new grade 8 students?" she asked. John raised an eyebrow, seeing how played on this all was. She didn't want to be here right now; he could tell.

"actually, I'm in grade 10 as well," John said, forcing a smile.

"oh," she said distastfully. "You are pretty short for a grade 10." John just wanted to ball a fist and throw one at her. Everyone said that. Every god damn person thought he looked younger than he really was.

"but I am new," John said, keeping his cool. "and, quite frankly, I am very lost."

"wonderful," she said sarcastically. "I can show you to your first class and your locker. Your teacher can show you the rest."

"ok, thank you," John said with a smile. Sally smiled back and quickly started through the hordes of children. John followed her down the second hallway wing that was attached to the main hall.

"Can I have the paper you were sent in the mail?" she asked, still speed walking. John fumbled around in his pocket.

"this one?" he said, producing a folded up piece of paper. Sally plucked it from his fingers and unfolded it. She scanned it over quickly.

"room 221. You have Mrs. Hudson for Social Studies," Sally told him.

"is she nice?" john asked.

"bundle of joy," she said flatly. John scratched his head as she handed the paper back to him.

She turned left, John turned left. She turned right, John turned right. Then Sally went up the stairs, John went up the stairs. Sally turned left, John turned left. She stopped. John almost bumped right into her, again.

"here is grade 10 Socials class," she said, turned around and walked away.

"wait a second!" John called out to her. Sally turned around, arms crossed. She was so intimidating like that. Stern and expectant. John was silent for a second before he swallowed and said, "what about my locker?"

"right there," she pointed across the hall beside a boy who was at another locker. "Number 2666." As soon as she replied, she left. John looked through the glass window of his class, only seeing a few students sitting around, and decided not to go in there yet. He looked at his locker. That boy had his locker right beside John's. He walked over to his locker as confidently as possible, acing the combination first try. The boy beside his locker was tall and thin. He wore quite dark clothes and he looked like he didn't want to be disturbed. John dumped his bag in his locker then shut it.

He could feel prying eyes burning holes into his left side. John gave a sideways looks at the boy. From beneath the dark, thick curls, the boy's eyes flared intensely. As soon as he saw John look back, the boy quickly turned away into his locker. John then thought it was a good idea to go to his class now. He quickly marched across the hall and opened the classroom door.

Upon opening that door, everyone looked up at John. All the eyes were fixed on him like moths to a big bright light. The teacher wasn't in the room yet, and there wasn't a sound coming from anyone. One group of kids, 2 boys, smiled at him, then said, "Hey Sherlock, come sit with us."

John was utterly confused. Who did they think he was, some fictional character from some fictional book? Then, John realized they were looking past him. He looked over his shoulder and saw that curly haired boy who owned the neighboring locker to himself glaring at the two boys.

"No," the boy said rather bluntly and strutted over to the back of the room where he picked an empty table to slam his books down on. The one boy said to the other, "I told you he hasn't changed. He's Sherlock. He will always be antisocial and sour." The other boy shook his head with a frown.

"I know that one day he will realize that having no friends is a very lonely life to lead," the other boy said.

John stood there in the door frame, staring at the two boys. They obviously saw him and began to stare back.

"um, are you new?" the one boy who had shiny black hair and wore a diamond plaid sweater asked John. At first, John was tongue tied. He couldn't find any words to explain himself. A jumble of studdered noises came from his vocal cords. The two boys gave him a strange and questioning look before they looked at each other.

"is the word you are looking for yes?" the boy with the faux leather jacket and dirty blonde hair asked John, almost with a chuckle.

"yes," John agreed, smiling in relief. The boy patted the chair beside him and John hopped over and sat with a sigh.

"my name is Greg, that is Philip," the boy in pleather said, holding out his hand. John took it and gave it a hardy shake.

"my name is John," he said introducing himself. "Nice to meet you Greg and Philip."

"what school did you come from?" Philip asked. Oh no, John thought. Here come all the usual questions. The ones that usually add up to a few more personal things John really didn't want to reveal.

"Rivendel high," John replied.

"do you miss your old friends?" Philip asked.

No. Not in the slightest way.

"ya, it was a hard move," John lied. Greg and Philip nodded in sympathy. They sat there in an awkward silence for a few moments, before John brought up a burning question of his.

"so, you know Sherlock?" John queried. Philip smiled mischeviously.

"oh, we know Sherlock," he said, still grinning. Greg rolled his eyes.

"everyone knows Sherlock," He corrected. "He is known by everyone, but no one really knows him, you know what I mean."

John shook his head. Greg leaned over and cupped a hand to John's ear.

"Sherlock doesn't really have any friends," he whispered. He backed up and they all looked at Sherlock.

Sherlock sat at the corner table, his nose in a book.

"He is so unknown to anyone. He just won't let anyone get close to him. All he does is read and do crosswords in the local paper. And he is really good at them. By the break, he is finished," Philip explained. Sherlock suddenly looked up from his book, already staring straight at them. They all quickly turned back around.

"personally, I think he is a real creep," Philip said. Greg nudged him hard.

"come on, I bet he is just misunderstood," Greg said in defense. Philip shrugged.

"doubt it. Just look at the bloke," anderson said, and they all looked back at him again. Sherlock was scribbling away in a notebook now. "I still think he is a bit of a weirdo."

Greg shook off Philip's comments and patted on John on the back. "Welcome to Baker Secondary!"


	2. Second

John continued to chat with Greg and Philip until the first bell rang. By then, Mrs. Hudson had arrived and began to take attendance. John learnt that Sherlock's last name was Holmes. Now isn't that strange. His parents must have done it on purpose.

"hello, my students. My name is Mrs. Hudson. I can't wait to meet you all!" the teacher said after putting down the attendance sheet. "today, we are just going to get to know one another. Let me just number you all off..." At that, everyone gave an exasperated sigh.

"I remember when I was young and chipper like the lot of you. I loved these get to know you games!" Mrs. Hudson told the class. John was numbered a 3 and was told to go to the front left corner of the classroom. There he saw no one he knew. So far, there were only 3 others in the group. John faintly smiled at them all and then turn to face the middle of the class.

Then, he saw Sherlock begin to walk over to his group.

"is this group 3," Sherlock asked, sounding bored as all hell. John nodded silently. Sherlock stood at the edge of the group, away from the people. John decided to get acquainted with the rest of his group, seeing as no one else would start. So he extended his hand and said,"Hi, my name is John."

Through out all the games, Sherlock never partook. Mrs. Hudson decided to drop by and see how we were doing.

"has everyone here tossed the ball to someone they don't already know?" sh said, looking around the circle group 3 had made, then saw Sherlock sitting down at a near by table, his nose in a book.

"Sherlock, how many times must a teacher tell you that you must participate!" she told him. Sherlock looked up from his book, a stern look directed to his superior teacher.

"I am participating. I'm listening. Is it not the purpose of this game? To HEAR what your classmates names are?" Sherlock questioned. Mrs. Hudson shook her head as nicely as possible.

"the purpose of this game is to make some friends," mrs. Hudson said, patting his shoulder. Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Now, please, stand with the group. It's the least you could do."

Sherlock did as he was told. Went the ball was tossed to him, he did what they were supposed to do, say your name, favorite color, and wish for this year.

"my name is Sherlock, my favorite color is - wait, why is this even relevant to getting to know me? Wouldn't a better question be something like "what is your favorite fatal virus and what you thing the best way to cure it is?" or-"

"Sherlock!" mrs. Hudson scolded. Sherlock slouched his shoulders.

"my favorite color is eggplant and my wish for the year is that I don't have to be stuck in a class of under-sensitized buffoons, once again - no offense," Sherlock said, then tossed it. "John." He caught the ball.

"my name is John, my favorite color is - uh - I don't really have one, and my wish for this year is..." John's voice faded away. His throat was closing up.

My wish for this year is to be accepted for being different.

"my wish for this year is to meet some new friends," John said, pulling together a smile to make it look convincing. "Mary." John passed the ball to the only person he remembered the name of.

They game continued until the bell rang for the next block to begin. John went through the winding halls to his next class, Drama, the class where you were supposed to be emotional and "let you feeling fly free like a butterfly". John had a very hard time with loosening up. He didn't want to really let all that out. He enjoyed it enough for him to be excited for next time, though, and at lunch, he managed to find Greg and Philip. They were sitting in the cafeteria. They actually waved him over.

"Hey John!" Greg called. John smiled and sat down with them.

"you like your classes, so far?" Philip asked. John nodded and took out his lunch money.

"hey, it's you!" said a some what familiar voice. John looked across the table, and their sat in front of him that girl. The girl who showed him the first steps into the school. The not-so-enthusiastic one.

"yeah, it's me," John said with a fainter smile.

"you know him?" Philip said, almost in a snarky way.

"yeah, this morning while I was doing that stupid volunteer job for extra credit, I helped this little guy through the hall," Sally said, reaching across the table to pat John's head. John was ready to just slap that bitch across the face, but reason restrained him, and he shook it off. John decided that was a good time to go get lunch. Today, they had a selection of sandwiches and some salad or soup for a side. John took the BLT and a small bowl of soup. When he sat back down with his new acquaintances, another sat down as well.

"well, well, WELL! Look who decided to join a social circle," Sally said, her tone so taunting, like she was pretending to show someone something, so she opens her hand - "but don't interact with us too much, Sherlock. You might get an allergic reaction." - then slaps you in the face. Philip laughed and gave Sally a high five. Sherlock, who had just sat down beside John, turned away from them all. Greg didn't look up from his door as Sally and Philip kept laughing at their sick joke.

It isn't even that funny, John thought. He couldn't see Sherlock's expression from beneath his mop of hair. Sherlock had sunken on the cafeteria bench, his face looking at his feet.

"give him a chance," Greg suddenly piped up. Sally and Philip went silent. They looked at each-other blankly, then they smiled and turned to Sherlock.

"ok then," Philip said, crossing his arms. "Do you have anything you wanted to say?"

For a moment, no one moved nor make a sound. They all looked to Sherlock, but he didn't respond. Then, he looked up, sat up straight and tall, stern gazes burning them all, and said, "I didn't."

Philip and Sally smiled smugly, seeing as they had obviously proven their point.

"but now, I do," Sherlock continued, surprising them all with the chippertone he produced. "My intention was to sit and eat lunch. For some reason, you thought I wanted to be "friends" with you. Now, let me ask YOU a question. Why would I want to be in a "social" circle with trash-talking idiots if I could go sit with a garbage can and have an exceedingly better conversation with it than I would ever have with you?"

There were no responses. John had the urge to nod exaggeratedly, so he did. Sherlock, smugly smiling, got up and left while the rest of them still had their jaws hanging on the floor. John leapt out of his seat with his lunch and followed behind swift Sherlock. He was moving so agilely around the kids in the corridors, John almost lost him. Twice.

As soon as he realized Sherlock was not slowing down, he started to call to him. Sherlock didn't even take a glance backwards.

"Sherlock, wait!" John tried again. Finally, Sherlock stopped in front of a row of lockers. Once John caught up to Sherlock, and caught up to his breath, he said, "that was - hah - a brilliant comeback."

"well," Sherlock said, beginning to fiddle with one of the locks. "You don't know how long I've been waiting to say that." John chuckled again, but then saw that Sherlock was not laughing whatsoever. John stopped abruptly. Sherlock opened a locker and John realized where they were. John opened his locker. A silence swept them both. He wanted to say something else, but couldn't think of anything witty to say to break the ice. As John ate bites of his lunch, he looked at his next block. It was PE.

"Hey," John said in an attempt to start a conversation. Sherlock looked up from his book at John. "I was just wondering if you knew what the protocol for PE attire is?" Sherlock flipped a page in his book. John blinked. Did Sherlock not hear him? Was there something he did wrong? John began to panic a little inside. He didn't want to make a bad first impression. Thoughts of all the possible ways he could have just screwed up and how he was to fix them raced around in his mind, like they were playing a jumbled game of tag, seeing which problem could be caught by which solution.

"I know," Sherlock suddenly said. "that it is the usual: runners, gym shorts and tee-shirt. What else would it be?"

John nodded then shrugged. " I don't know, could've been something I didn't know," he said honestly and innocently.

"it's common sense. The school board is in charge of the curriculum and they aply it to every school they control. Every average gym class, is there for, identical in expectation," Sherlock said, almost in a snappy way. John decided to shut up. He continued to eat and look over his schedule. After PE was English, one of his least favorite classes.

The bell rang and John went to PE class. When he got there, everyone had all ready changed. He didnt see any of his new friends there. Well, John had to rethink his friend situation. Anyway, John went to the locker room where he changed and shoved his stuff in one of the gym lockers. As on of their warm ups, they ran twice around the perimeter of the school on a timed run. John wanted to make a good first impression on the gym teacher, so he really tried to give it his all. As he ran, there was one guy who always kept passing him. No matter how many times John caught up to him, he just ran a little bit faster, just enough to piss John of, because John couldn't run that bit faster. Soon, they were separated from the pack. They were much further ahead than the rest of the class. As they completed their first lap, John began to really hate seeing the back of this thin boys head. He couldn't understand how such an average sized guy - mind you, he wasn't even that muscular - was so nimble and could just keep going like that. It made John want to run faster. So he did.

Now the end neared. You could see the finish, only half a block away. John began to take a shot at it and he bolted. The other boy, though, anticipated this, and bolted as well. They sprinted, neck in neck, until there was just a few meters left, and the boy gave it even a little bit more, passing John, and crossing the finish first. John came in second, panting like a dog.

Then, a water bottle was shoved to his face.

"here," said the boy, heavily panting as well. John accepted it and took a big swig. He handed it back, replying, "thanks."

The boy smiled and took a sip himself. They both were belt over, hearts pulsing loud as drum beats.

"you're new, aren't you?" asked the boy.

"yes," John simply replied. They huffed there in silence for a few seconds before they began to see other boys coming across the finish line.

"my name is Jim," said the boy with a smile, extending his hand out to John.

John shook his hand and smiled back. "I'm John."

"well, John, I am very impressed that you put up such a fight. Don't beat yourself up too much about it, though. No one ever beats me," Jim said. They laughed between breaths.

"do you run outside of school, I mean, in competitions and stuff?" John asked.

"no," Jim said, not looking away from John's gaze. It really made John anxious, that stare. Jim's stare made John feel like he was burning holes into his soul with his jet black eyes.

Gym seemed to go really quickly. John always had an enjoyable time in Physical Education. The bell had startled John when it sounded. When John was changing, he felt like he was being watch, which was unusual. Despite all of john's emotional insecurities, he never had a problem in the change rooms. John looked up from putting on his pants to see if he could spot the source. Looking around the room, he met the dark eyes of Jim, who casually looked away as they made contact. The discovery made John slow down. His heart skipped a beat, but he couldnt tell if that was a good thing or not. Both flattery and fear washed over him. John quickly put on his shirt.


	3. Third

As John stepped into English class, the first thing he noticed was a tall, old man with a huge grey and white beard sitting at a desk in the corner of the room. It was the most stereotypical old man he had ever seen: the hunched back, long beard, wrinkled face, and hands that moved slowly and shook every few moments. He wore a blue button up shirt with thin white strips going up the body and wore not a tie nor a bow.

For some strange reason, he has a very long stick resting against his desk. It was too long to be a walking stick, but who the heck halls around a staff, right?

As John looked for a place to sit, he found Sherlock sitting in the desk farthest away from the teacher's. John sat at the desk next to Sherlock who had his head in a book. John noticed it was the same book he had seen him in earlier. He put is binder on his desk just as the bell rang. The class room had filled itself and the teacher rose from his desk.

"all right," he boomed, shocking John quite a bit. Such a strong, powerful voice came from that old man's body, it was unbelievable. "My name is Mr. G. This is English class. When I call your name, make sure you say "present" loud and clear, all right?"

John straightened in his seat immediately. Mr. G began to list off the names alphabetically. He had called out 4 names before he called out John's name.

"Bilbo," mr. G's voice hitched. Mr. G peered over the paper and looked directly at John. "Baggins."

Oh god, that stare was brutal. John gulped before saying, "I prefer to go by John. And I am present."

"ok, John Baggins," Mr. G said, before calling the next name. John looked around the room nervously. He didn't like his first name. It just sounded so jolly, like some kind of Christmas elf. His middle name, John, was a much better alternative. Though he is required to put his legal first name on the application paper, he wished to be identified as John.

John saw a little smirk on Sherlock's face.

"what?" John demanded.

"your name-" Sherlock began to chuckle.

"I know, it sounds childish-"

"-no, you are named after a fictional character." That halted John's reply.

"what?" John said again, this time in the tone of an actual question.

"Bilbo Baggins is the name of a fictional character in a book," Sherlock said, his eyebrows beginning to furrow. John stared at him blankly.

"have you never heard of a novel called The Hobbit?" Sherlock question. John shook his head, feeling stupid doing so.

"really? I have never come across a person not knowing of this. It has been a very popular book for decades. Even movies are being made for them," Sherlock explained.

"really?" John said quite quietly. "you were named after a fictional character too!"

"nice try, John," Sherlock said dismissively.

"I'm serious! Ever heard of Sherlock Holmes, the famous detective?"

"ooh! I like the jingle of that-"

"Mr. Holmes!" Mr. G shouted. John and Sherlock turned to the front of the class where mr. G was snarling at them both. The rest of the class was silent and looking back at them. John wanted to turn into a turtle and crawl into his shell. Sherlock looked at the teacher expectantly.

"do you care to share your conversation?" Mr. G said.

"no," Sherlock said so innocently it was almost cruel. Mr. G ignored Sherlock and began his lesson.

Sherlock gave John a sideways smile. John smirked back, then directed his attention to Mr. G. Just a few seconds after, he heard Sherlock murmur something.

"pardon?" John whispered, keeping his face towards the front of the class.

"mr. G is going to make us read the hobbit," Sherlock whispered back, keeping his face to the board as well.

"you're pulling my leg," John said, turning to face Sherlock.

"you better believe it," Sherlock said, snapping attention to John. John gave Sherlock a disbelieving raised eyebrow.

"prove it," John said. A slow, giddy grin weaseled across Sherlock's lips. John felt them both hold their breath for just a brief moment right before Sherlock said, "when I walked in the classroom I saw him reading a book. It was small and on the thinner side of novels. I assumed it was a children's book. It was old, judging by the binding. The matterial was fraying and degrading. When I walked past, I saw that the font was rather small so I knew it wasn't a young children's novel, it was a preteen novel. Then a word caught my eye. The word "Elvish". What kind of story writes the word elvish? So let us have a recapitulation: preteen reading level, old, medium length, and the word elvish. Lord of the rings. But lord of the rings is thicker. I looked at the cover of the book and only managed to see the first three letters of the title: HOB. Then it was obvious. It was the Hobbit."

John blinked. "but wouldn't it have been easier to look at the cover when he put it down on his desk?"

"well, what fun is that?"

"MR. HOLMES."

John and Sherlock looked back to the board. Mr. G scowled at them.

"what did I just say?" mr. G question.

"mr. Holmes," Sherlock answered.

"before that!" mr. G shouted.

"you were telling us that we are going to write a book report on The Hobbit."

Mr. G pouted. He silently stared at Sherlock.

"and?"

Sherlock went silent, staring blankly at Mr. G. The whole room was silent. Mr. G gave Sherlock time to answer. They stared at each-other intensely.

Then, Sherlock said, "this is a pair assignment."

Mr. G tilted his head down, continuing to stare at Sherlock.

"very good. As I said, we will work on this in pairs. Here is an outline of the assingment," mr. G walked over and grabbed a stack of papers from his desk, then handed a pile to the front desk of every row. John looked to Sherlock who was smiling to himself contently.

"It was just a guess," Sherlock told John. John chuckled and turned back to his face his row.

"amazing," John mumbled. They got the papers and mr. G began to explain the assingment.

"so, what you are going to do is read the book, together. Then, write a 2,000 word paper about the moral of the story, each. In total, you should have a paper of 4,000 words. Support your reasons, whatever they may be. Here is the catch, you must. Get a perspective of three outside people. Outside meaning people who are not in this assignment. I would like at least one of these people to be an adult. Watching the movie does not count as reading the novel. If I find that you have done this, as it wil be obvious by your write up, your paper will be burned," Mr. G explained. "questions? Oh, and this will be most of your term 1 mark, I believe it was 80%. And you can choose your own partners. Begin."

The class began to bustle with chatter as kids got up to pick their partners. John began to feel confused about how he was to find someone to work with, until Sherlock tapped him on the shoulder.

"partners?" he asked. John nodded with a smile.

"if you need the book, you can borrow one for the assignment. They are at the board in an open box," Mr. G yelled over to voices of student. John went to grab a copy. They were all brand new with shiny covers. As John walks back to Sherlock, he sees him talking with a girl. For what he could see, she had long, black hair and she wore a fitted white shots leaved blouse. She was facing away and John examined Sherlock's expression. His face was neutral but intensely gazing down at her. A little prong of emotion stabbed in Johns gut. It felt bad, as if he were jealous... But he wasn't. And he couldn't. Because he didn't.

"excuse me," he said as he slid past the girl and stood between them. He looked at Sherlock for a moment, then handed him a book.

"ok, I guess we should start reading now-"

"you're new," the girl said rather bluntly. John turned to her. He was trying his best to ignore the fact that she was even there.

"yes, I am," John replied as politely as possible, pretending to not be annoyed by her statement. It obviously didn't work on her. She devilishly sneered and her eyes saw right through him.

"I will leave you two, then. Text me, Sherlock," she said before turning on the balls of her feet and trotting off across the classroom. John swore she saw her make kissy lips directed in Sherlock's way before she left.

She made god damn kissy lips.

John looked back at Sherlock who's gaze was following Irene. His face was blank and John didn't know what to make of it.

"so, the book," John said, breaking the silence between them. Sherlock snapped back and his attention returned to John.

"yes, I will begin," Sherlock offered, swooping up the book and deftly opening it to the first chapter. As he began to read, John began to feel tingly, like dad-long-leg spiders were crawling up him. Sherlock did have that narrative voice, but John was surprised that his body reacted so. Sherlock read about 10 pages, then asked John to read. As John picked up where Sherlock left off, he still felt that tingly sensation.

Sherlock's eyes began to float away from John. John looked up, still resisting the words from the page. Sherlock's eyes were looking over John's shoulder. John suddenly felt a prang in his gut and blurted, "who is she?"

Sherlock was taken aback by John's bit of sass in his tone. They stared at each-other intensely. John waited impatiently for an answer as Sherlock just stared.

"Irene is a friends," Sherlock finally answered, then looked back down at the book.

"are you sure?" John questioned. Sherlock looked up, again, quiet amused by the fact that he didn't understand what John ment.

"I am positive," Sherlock said.

"you know what? Just be quiet smart ass. It's your turn to read."

Sherlock shook his head in confusing, his curls bouncing around before resting in their places.

Then, he began. That tingling feeling came back to John again. His feet itched. The temptation to take off his shoes was so strong.

"ok everyone, enough for today!" mr. G shouted out of the blue. He stood up quickly from his desk, as if he had a phobia of chairs.

"everyone is dismissed," he announced. John and Sherlock began to pack up when he added, "except for you two." as he pointed at Sherlock and John with one of his bony, old-man fingers.

"I have a few things to say to you two."


	4. Fourth

The bell rang and Sherlock and John sat at chairs that were pulled around Mr. G's desk. Mr. G watched as kids filed out of his class room, excited to finally go home. But not Sherlock. And not John. No. They were stuck in a talk with the teacher on the first day of school.

"do forgive me," Mr. G began as the last student left. "may you refresh me on your full legal names?" he looked to Sherlock.  
"I'm Sherlock Holmes," Sherlock said. Mr. G turned to John.  
"Bilbo Baggins," John said. "but I prefer John." Mr. G didn't acknowledge John at all. He stared at Sherlock. Then John. Then he closed his eyes.  
"have you, John, ever heard of a hobbit?" he asked in a extremely serious tone. John shook his head. Sherlock was almost choking as he stifled his laughter his face began turning red.  
"Sherlock will you cease your childish behavior! This is a very serious matter," Mr. G scolded.  
"he's never heard of a hobbit," Sherlock repeated.  
"have you ever heard the stories of Sherlock Holmes, the detective inspector?" Mr. G challenged. Sherlock shook his head.  
"see, I find that strange too. Out of all the people I know, it is you who doesn't know about Sherlock Holmes," John piped up.  
"Mr. Baggins," Mr. G said, his tone reducing to only a simmer. "The both of you, listen to me. This is very serious. Do not take this lightly."  
Sherlock and John unintentionally leaned in closer.  
"if I told you that you both write your own stories by living every day of your life, would you believe me?" Mr. G said. Sherlock and John both hesitantly nodded.  
"is this a sort of medifore or something?" John asked.  
"no." John decided to be quiet.  
"If I told you your stories run beside one another, does this make sense?" mr. G asks, now beginning to touch his staff. They nodded, though they weren't completely clear what he meant.  
"now pretend your life's were two completely different stories. They don't have any relation to one another, and they suddenly crossed story lines. What do you think would happen to those stories?" Mr. G questioned. They were silent.  
Suddenly, through the silence, they heard a knock on the door.  
"sorry to interrupt," said a familiar female voice. They all turned to see Mrs. Hudson standing in the door way. "Mr. G, we have a meeting. I was told to fetch you."  
Mr. G looked back to Sherlock and John.  
"think about it. Who are you and what is your story. It might help you in the assignment. See you two next class," mr. G said, grabbing his staff and rising from his seat and meeting Mrs. Hudson at the door. Sherlock and John looked at each-other.  
"that is what we stayed in for? Tips on how to do our project?" Sherlock protested as mr. G left the classroom.  
"that one's a whack-job, isn't he," John muttered.  
"complete nutter. So! Meet me at my house tomorrow after school. 2212 Elementary Road," Sherlock said and left, clutching his copy of the Hobbit In his hand. John took a moment to watch Sherlock walk out the room. There went a new friend. A strange one, indeed, but still a friend.

Sherlock strolled to his locker. As he opened his locker and grabbed his pack, he examined his book. It made him think of his strange discussion with Mr. G. He wanted to understand so badly. So many questions. Sherlock decided on one thing: Mr. G's medifores were terrible.  
Then Sherlock thought of John. Small John. He was a little above average intelligence, but he probably forgot Sherlock's address by now. Sherlock took a sticky note and pen and jotting down his address. John wasn't at his locker yet and Sherlock knew he would be gone before John wound reach his locker, so he stuck it on John's locker door. As Sherlock turned back to his own locker, he swallowed back excitement.  
"a deck of cards? Really? Who do _you_ play with?" said Jim as he rummaged through Sherlock's locker. Sherlock pushed Jim aside.  
"keep it, I don't use them anymore," Sherlock said as he secretly seethed with hatred. Jim shrugged and pocketed the deck of cards.  
"guess what!" Jim said bouncing back to Sherlock. Sherlock rolled his eyes.  
"I don't want to play your games again," Sherlock said.  
"I understand. No one likes to be a loser," Jim mocked.  
"your games are unfair!" Sherlock objected. Jim grinned wildly. He leaned close.  
"its ok. You don't have to play. But..." Jim mumbled, turning on the balls of his feet. Then he looked back. "I know something you don't know." Sherlock thought about it for a second. It was kind of early in the year for Jim to be tampering with his personal life, but he rolled his eyes anyway.  
"why should I care. There are lost of things in this worlds I don't know yet," Sherlock said.  
"well, this one, you would never figure out without me," Jim said with a shrug. Sherlock went silent, knowing where this was heading.  
"why?"  
"because you," Jim pushed a finger to Sherlock's chest, "don't understand other people's emotions."  
"what do you mean! People can be sad, angry, happy-" Jim's one finger was slowly join by the others and they curled around Sherlock's shirt.  
"but can you identify them?"  
Sherlock stopped himself. He asked himself the question over and over again in his mind before deciding on a safe responce.  
"get off me Jim," Sherlock whispered through clenched teeth. Jim let go and took one big exaggerated step back with his hands up in the air.  
"three guesses Sherlock and three clues: that is all you get," Jim said. "then again, that is all you really need." Jim winked at Sherlock then trotted away down the hall. Sherlock was seething. He grabbed his pack and shut his locker, storming out of Baker Secondary, the Hobbit in his hand.

John strolled down the halls of the school. He could at least recognize where he was. He noticed all the cliques. It wasn't hard to tell what they were into either. He saw all the jocks one one side of the hall - he heard them talking about an upcoming football game - the nerds and the pretty girls and the out casts that usually huddled in small groups in dark corners. Then there were the punks. They stared. John stared back. Then, he recognized a face. That girl. The one Sherlock fancied. Suddenly, she was walking towards him.  
"you're new," she said again. "welcome."  
"ah ya, I know," John replied, trying to go around.  
"are you and Sherlock friends?" she asked, flipping her black hair back.  
"ya, I guess," John shrugged, beginng to walk around again.  
"I'm Irene," she said. "you should probably know. And you are?"  
"John," he mumbled, walking passed her and continuing down the hall. Then a hand was on his shoulder. He turned around.  
"are you-" she began, but she paused, as if the sentence wasn't sounding right I n her head. "Do you know Dorothy?"  
John raised an eyebrow. "am I supposed to know Dorothy?"  
"nevermind. I think you do, but just haven't met her yet," Irene said and walked away. John was so confused.  
He got to his locker. He found the sticky not Sherlock left him and pocketed it. John had been thinking about what "do you know Dorothy" meant. He knew it couldn't have been an actually person. It was code for something. John got his things and left.  
John came home to an empty house. No people, scarce furniture. Boxes and packing paper here and there.  
Home sweet home.  
John climbed the silent stairs and went down the blank hall to his room. Only his bed and his dresser was present. He put his backpack at the foot of his bed and eyed the boxes in the corner. He didn't want to touch them. All the things from his past were there. He was not fond of the past. He sat on his bed. It sunk a bit.  
"Maybe a new mattress," he said aloud. His voice echoed on the walls. This house was as empty as he was. John picked up his book. The hobbit. Why did this seem so familiar yet so foreign. He read a bit.  
After a while, his feet began to ache. John laid down. He read a while longer. He found it very amusing how Bilbo didn't want any adventures, though that was all he seemed to be getting. Reminded him of himself a bit. John chuckled. Sherlock was right. It really was a children's book. No where near grade 10 matterial.  
John itched his feet. They ached to no end. He decided to walk around a bit. May as well explore the house.  
He went out to the empty hall way. His door was the first of the four in the hall way. Two bedrooms and a bathroom. He went down stairs to the living room. There was a little mantel over the fire place. At least his mother had managed to put up one picture. An old family Christmas picture.  
There stood John's family. Everyone seemed so innocent. His mother and father were actually smiling. His sister, so young and untouched, sat in a lovely dress, he hair tied back in a braid. Then there was John. He was maybe only 7 in the picture. He noticed how curly it was. And longer. It made him think of Sherlock.  
It was only one day. They only knew each-other for one day and yet... John didn't want to think about it that way. He can't trust anyone like that so quickly. His naivety is what made him give it all up last time. He could not repeat the past. He would not.  
John noticed he had picked the picture up. He put it back. He move on to the dining table. He found, on the table, an empty bottle laying on its side. John rolled his eyes and swiped it. He took it to the full bottle return box. He couldn't believe it was full. No. He could believe that quiet easily. What he couldn't believe was that his parents let Harriet do it.  
John opened the fridge. He pushed aside the leftovers from last night's take-out meal and took the water pitcher. He poured himself a glass.  
John traipsed into the living room where he sat down on the single couch. There wasn't anything else in the room, so he looked out the window. Snow fell.  
The door opened.  
"look what the cat dragged in," John mumbled, not making eye contact.  
"hey," his sister replied sounding drowsy as ever. She wobbled her way to the kitchen where John heard glass clink. No doubt she was pouring herself a glass of poison.  
John decided to leave before he could experience any more. He calmly walked out of the living room, trying to hide his anxiousness to evacuate.

In his bedroom, John laid on his bed. He reflected on today, but, honestly, he could only think about PE. Jim in Gym, John chuckled to himself, trying to make the thoughts less awkward for himself to digest. He recalled the way he looked at him. Well, I guess it was more of an evaluation. The gaze from across the room. The shiver down his spine as he pulled a shirt over his head. Flattery poured over him, but it felt wrong. He didn't even know Jim. Nor who he was or what he does. None the less, John liked it.

Why must it be a guy? John rolled over onto his side. Girls are nice. Girls are pretty. Girls are fun. Why? A girl can be so smart and kind, but John, you can stop right there because you sir, you won the golden ticket to the attraction called BOYS.

John got out of bed. He grabbed a box and began to unpack it.


	5. Fifth

John giggled at his lock. For some god damn reason, he was getting it wrong. This was now the fifth attempt, only to have failure come bash him in the face with a frying pan. He frantically spun in the combo, aggressively yanking at it like it was a disobedient cow that needed to be herded. He was out of ideas. John had five minutes to be in class, and science was in wing A, and John was lucky to be in wing D. Now he began to try different combos. They all said, "You're so funny John, we are laughing at you!". Two minutes. The seconds were counting down.

"Can you hear us, John? HAHAHAHAHA!"

"Need help?" Came a deep voice from over his shoulder. John could almost feel the breath on his neck. John shivered. John decided this was most likely not Sherlock's intentions, for he was a _friend_ trying to be _friendly. _

_"_Yes," John exhaled, taking a side step from his locker door. Sherlock seemed to smirk from the beneath the shadow of his mop of hair.

"Combo?" He asked almost inaudibly. John hesitated.

"7, 33, 13," John mumbled. Sherlock began to spin the dial. John had only know Sherlock for a day, he hadn't even hung out with him for more than 5 hours, but for some naive reason, he trusted Sherlock. Despite all the things people say about him, Sherlock isn't playing up to what all the rumours are suggesting.

Clickety-click, the lock opened and Sherlock placed it in John's hand.

"You have science next," Sherlock said. John nodded, kind of surprised he knew. "I do too. You're lucky Mr. Gaius doesn't necessarily care if you are on time or not. Just grab a notebook and a pen."

They popped into science just as Mr. Gaius had begun to take attendance. They slipped into the two empty desks in the back of the classroom. Suddenly, the feeling of being watched came over John. He scanned the classroom, but saw no one. Suddenly, he realized where the stare was coming from. He didn't want to turn. His body began to redirect itself. John tried to stop.

Too late.

"Hey John," he whispered. John swallowed hard. He smiled in a friendly manner and whispered back, "hi Jim."

Sherlock's head whipped around.

"John, don't talk to him," Sherlock said. John turned to Sherlock, his eyebrows knit.

"Why?"

"Yes, Sherlock, why so? Are you jealous?" Jim said in a suspiciously taunting voice.

"Jim Moriarty is not what you would call a "friend"," Sherlock said, ignoring Jim's comment. John continued to stay confused.

"Oh, come now, Sherlock, we play games all the time!" Jim said. John's thoughts wavered from his relations with Jim and Sherlock's relations with Jim.

"You force me to do it. It's unfair," Sherlock mumbled.

"But I know you love it because you keep playing," Jim said with a sly grin. Sherlock grimaced.

"If you don't know already," Jim said, turning back to John. "Sherlock and I are very intimate friends."

"You are a sick, twisted, revolting, little scum from-"

"I try," Jim said, pretending to file his nails.

John sat there between two psychopaths. One claims to have a relationship with the other while the other denies every word of it. John was utterly confused and quite scared. Neither were about to be sympathetic to the poor boy sitting between them, but instead completely ignoring him and continuing to banter back and forth. They both were getting out of their seats, ready to pounce on each other.

"Bilbo Baggins." John heard his name being called and took the opportunity to say "HERE!" as loud as he could. Jim and Sherlock sat back in their seats. Mr. Gaius eyed them all with an exaggeratedly raised eyebrow. Sherlock, John, and Jim stared back at him. Mr. Gaius pursed his lips, then went back to the attendance sheet.

-:-:-:-

As they began to find partners for a lab, John felt awkward. He thought he was going to be able to turn to Sherlock as his lab partner, but Sherlock was gone out of his seat as soon as the teacher was done the explanation. He sank into his seat as less and less people sat around the desks. John was tapped on the shoulder.

"John, the class has an uneven number of students, so we can be a group of three," Sherlock said. John smiled up at him then.

"Who is the third?" John asked.

"You are," Sherlock said. "This is Molly." Sherlock swung a girl by the hand around to face them. She blushed cherry red. John swore he heard her say "oh my" under her breath.

"Hello Molly, I'm John," John said, holding out his hand to shake. She looked at it for a second, then shook.

"Hello, John," she said in a hushed tone. She didn't make eye contact and her ginger hair fell over her face. As she let go of John's hand, she quickly retracted the one from Sherlock's as well, pulling them behind her back.

The three stood their, waiting for the other to speak. John knew right then that they must be the most awkward people in the whole school.

Throughout the lab, Molly took charge. She set up all the equipment and executed most of the important steps. Sherlock, to John's surprise, did whatever she said. John felt like a third wheel. He didn't know much about science and wasn't so interested in all the chemistry stuff. He felt like he was just sitting and watching Molly and Sherlock be smart.

Time passed slowly as he watched them, handing them things once and a while. Mr. Gaius would walk by and John would pretend to be doing something to help. He just felt so useless. There was really noting he could do to help. He watched Molly drop a substance into a beaker held over a Bunsen burner as Sherlock bent down to watched at eye level. Sherlock raised a hand. Molly put down the eye dropper and scribbled something on a note pad. Sherlock took some kind of rod and began to gently stir the mixture. John looked at the stick swishing.

"I could do that," John said. Unfortunately, it came out like a snarky challenge. Sherlock and Molly suddenly stopped and stared at John. "That is, if you want some help."

Silence hung between the three. Sherlock looked to Molly. She stared intently at Sherlock, then Sherlock nodded and turned back to John.

"No," he said, and continued to stir. John's stomach sunk like a leaky submarine.

For the following class, John sat alone. It wasn't until lunch when he came to his locker to find Sherlock all ready there all by him self. John plunked himself down beside him. He looked up and down the hall, observing the passing students. Then something strange caught his eye. At the end of the hall, there was caution tape from wall to wall.

"Sherlock," John said, nudging him with his elbow, "what's happening over there?"

Sherlock looked up and followed John's finger down the hallway.

"It was going to be an expansion of the school because of the expected growth, but the school board ran out of money to finish the project, plus there wasn't any extra students, so now it is sitting there idly. Waste of space if you ask me," Sherlock explained. John shrugged and continued to eat.

"Have any rebels try and go in there?" John asked with a chuckle. Sherlock smirked back, sharing a knowing glance with John, and replied, "yes."

"You're terrible!" John exclaimed, elbowing Sherlock's side. Sherlock laughed and nudged him back.

"Well, well. If it isn't the two outcasts," sneered a voice that made Sherlock go ridged.

"It's better than hanging around you three, Philip," Sherlock retorted.

"No offence Jeff," John added. Jeff nodded with a shrug.

"I wouldn't be talking, fairy," Sally snarled. John shivered. He gulped. He twitched.

"Shut up you whore!" Sherlock yelled. "Everyone knows it's true. Anyway, no one _asked_ for your opinion." Sally stood there stunned just as her eyes began to redden. There was a twitch. She turned away as Sherlock coldly stared at her. Philip put his hand on her shoulder. Sally continued to look away, a sharp inhale following. John watched, a small prang of guilt in his stomach. Sherlock continued to stare her down, eyes narrowing to sharp angles, as Sally's breaths became very audible. Greg looked to Sally, then to Sherlock. He kept switching back and forth before staring at Sherlock, mouth starting to open, as if to ask why. Sherlock did not move or change in the emotion he projected.

"Greg-" John said, but his voice faltered as the three began to walk away, Sally rubbing her eyes with her sleeve. Sherlock made sure they were gone before he turned back to John.

"Sherlock," was all John could muster up. He didn't know if he should thank him, or tell him how awful that was.

"I'm sorry, but it was for our own good," Sherlock said in one tone.

"Our own good? Sherlock, what about there own good? They may be rotten people, but you can't just tell them off like that. They brought you down to their level," John said.

"That's ok, I'm already "lower" than them anyway. It doesn't really matter how other perceive me. I don't have any friends to hold on to," Sherlock said coldly. John felt as if he had been shot. He leaned back against the locker, making sure he didn't meet Sherlock's eyes.

Sherlock noticed to look on his face, then quickly said, "Oh, John. I'm-"

"Don't waste your breath on irrelevant people," John muttered. Sherlock looked as if he had gasped, but no such sound was made. They both ate in silence until the bell rang.

-:-:-:-

The last two classes passed boringly. As John went back to his locker, he remembered he was going over to Sherlock's house after school. He gritted his teeth. He wasn't happy with Sherlock. His lunch time quarrel was childish and stupid. But he had to remember, he was going over for the book assignment. This had nothing to do with friendship or any other matter. Only for the love of school.

He met Sherlock at his locker. They silently collected their stuff. When John closed his lock, he leaned against the locker and looked blankly down the hall.

"Am I still coming over?" He asked, trying to sound like he didn't give a flying fig about it.

"Are you?" Sherlock questioned sternly, pulling his backpack over his shoulder.

"Yes," John replied as he push himself off of his locker and started forward. Sherlock trotted after him, catching up to walk beside him.

"You don't know where you are going," Sherlock stated.

"Did you already forget that you gave me your address on the sticky note? I know where I'm going," John retorted. Sherlock made some grunting noise. John pushed open the front doors to the school, not bothering to hold the doors for his acquaintance. A cool chill hit John in the cheeks as they stepped out onto the cold, slushy streets.


	6. Sixth

For the assumption of it being a dark and maybe even dreary house, Sherlock's home was bright and fluffy. Literally. There were cute lamps and fuzzy embroidered pillows everywhere.

"Wipe your feet on the mat before you take your shoes off," Sherlock told John as he began to wipe. John wiped his feet gently on the rug at the door, then slipped his shoes off. Sherlock took John's shoes and placed them on a cute bronze shoe rack beside a pair of marry-janes. As they went up the carpeted stairs to Sherlock's room, John noticed many pictures of two young boys being cradled by what he presumed were a mother and father. The two boys had very wide grins on their faces and cheeks as rosy as apples.

"Is that you?" John asked, pointing at a picture with the little boys playing foot ball. The one that was slightly taller with ginger hair had a full football uniform on and the smaller one who was dark haired and a little scruffy looking hugged the black and white ball at his feet. Sherlock pursed his lips as he glanced at the picture and turned back to continue up the stairs.

"Yes, that is me," Sherlock said in mild disgust.

"With the ball-"

"Yes."

John stopped speaking and watches Sherlock begin to stomp up the stairs with more of an effort put into the amount of noise he made. John quietly followed after him, pulling his back pack better over his shoulder.

They turned a corner into Sherlock's bedroom and John was surprised by how boring it was. Compared to the rest of the home, his room looked like it could have been a prison cell. A single bed, a single dresser, a single closet, and a spotless desk with next to nothing on it, just a cup of pencils and other miscellaneous objects, and nothing on the floor or under the bed.

"You can put your bag on the floor over their," Sherlock said, pointing into the empty corner of his room. John obeyed and set it down in the corner. He grabbed the novel and a binder with some spare papers in it. He turned around to see Sherlock examining his back in the single full body mirror that hanged on an empty wall. He lifted his shirt. John quickly looked away, pretending he was preoccupied with something more interesting.

"Ah," Sherlock cried softly. John looked over his should and Sherlock was sitting on his bed scratching his back. He looked a bit disgruntled and pained.

"Are you ok?" John asked. Sherlock looked up at John, then stood.

"I'm fine," he said. He picked up his copy of the hobbit. "So the book."

"Yes, so let's read," John said, opening his book, flipping through the first few pages until he got to the first chapter.

"Why not we read the first chapter out loud, so we can both start off on the same track," Sherlock suggested. John nodded. "I'll start..."

When Sherlock began reading, John was surprised, once again, by his enthusiasm in his voice as he read. It sounded so smooth and natural, like honey being drizzled into a nice, hot cup of tea. John listened intently. It's only been a couple of days, school nearly had begun, and he already knew so many unexpected things about this boy named Sherlock. His love for science and puzzle solving, his hatred for the Philip and Sally crew, and his tendency to want to be alone. But then there were so many things he knew he didn't know, and was constantly getting shocked by, like his dangerous relationship with Jim and his strange liking to entertaining others, but then not wanting to be with anyone. John was so confused by Sherlock. And also strangely fascinated. There hadn't seemed yet to be a dull moment with this curly boy.

"John, you can continue from there." John looked at Sherlock blankly.

"Continue from the beginning of page 8," Sherlock said, trying to elaborate his request. John looked down at the book. He had stopped turning the pages after page 3. John flipped a little frantically to the 8th page. Sherlock sighed, shaking his head.

"Right. The top of page 8..." As John read, he realized he had no idea what had happened in the story so far. His day dream had gotten too deep for him to remember anything Sherlock had said. After a few pages, he started to catch on a bit. He read with more ease and even looked up a few times between breaths or long sentences. John looked up again, but something caught his eye. Sherlock was aggressively itching his back against the post of his bed.

"Uh," is all John could make out. Sherlock was leaning up on the bed post and moved up and down and back and forth vigorously.

"Are you ok?" John asked. Sherlock slowed down, then collapsed on his bed.

"No," Sherlock admitted. John put a piece of paper his novel and set it down.

"What happened?" John question.

"I don't really know. My back... It hurts," Sherlock said, reaching to itch it again.

"Did you pull something?" John said, getting up from his spot on the floor.

"No, it's... A sharp pain. It's up near my should blades," Sherlock said, trying to reach around his back some how, but was unsuccessful. John stood their watching Sherlock struggle.

"Can you assess me?" Sherlock finally asked.

"Like- like a doctor?" John said, moving forward to sit beside Sherlock.

"Yes. Look at my back, please," Sherlock requested. He pulled up his shirt and turned his back to John. John didn't see anything out of the ordinary, other than noting the extreme pastiness of Sherlock's skin.

"Everything looks fine to me," John said, clapping his hands together into his lap.

"Well, can you feel anything unusual?" Sherlock questioned. John held up a hand, reaching forward. He hesitated. He touched between Sherlock's shoulder blades. He slide his hand over his left should blade, then back towards the right. Just before he met the second blade, Sherlock made a small yelping sound.

"There. Press," Sherlock said. He sounded very uncomfortable, yet determined for John to do so. John slowly pressed down on Sherlock's smooth skin. Suddenly, he felt something. It felt hard, but it wasn't a vertebra or anything of that sort. It felt a bit like a nub. John felt around to it, then pressed harder on top of it.

"Ow!" Sherlock yelled. John retracted his hand.

"Oh god, I'm sorry," John apologized quickly.

"No, it's OK. What was that?" Sherlock said, flipping his shirt down and turning to face him.

"I don't know, it was kind of abnormal-" John stammered.

"John, you're red," Sherlock commented flatly. John's hand flew to his cheeks.

"I'm fine," John said.

"I didn't ask you a question," Sherlock said, slowing down as he ended his sentence.

"I'm fine," John repeated in a quieter tone. His eyes fell to the floor. Sherlock stared at him. They sat in silence until Sherlock said, "did it look like anything I should be worried about?"

John met Sherlock's eyes, then looked away as he answered. "No, it didn't seem like much."

"Well it hurts like hell," Sherlock said, standing up. He stretched his arms up above his head.

Suddenly, a woman's voice rang from down stairs. She was saying something along the lines of: " oh my goodness gracious! Is someone here with you Sherlock? Come down stairs honey! We have some snacks on the table for you!"

"Not now, Mummy! We are working!" Sherlock shouted back to the voice which John now assumed was Sherlock's mother. He looked back to John, then picked up his book.

"Let's finish another chapter or two before she tries to make us go down stairs and be sociable," Sherlock said, smirking at John. John smiled back and opened his book.

"Okay, where were we..."

-:-:-:-

"Oh look at Sherlock, honey," Mrs. Holmes said to what John presumed was her husband, Sherlock's dad. They continued to talk to each other from the other side of the kitchen about Sherlock and John who were eating from a plate of veggies and hummus at the table. Mr. Holmes was washing some dishes, so their voices were drowned out a bit from the rushing water. Sherlock stared at a slice of carrot in his hand as he listened to his mother giggle about him.

"Mum, I can hear everything you are saying," Sherlock piped up in annoyance. His mother glanced at him momentarily, smirking, then continued to talk. John couldn't help but laugh. She was doing it purposefully now. Sherlock angrily bit off a piece of his carrot.

Mr. Holmes turned off the water and Mrs. Holmes said, "I'm just glad he is making friends."

"John, let's get out of here," Sherlock said, grabbing John's arm. He quickly put a bite of cucumber and hummus in his mouth, brushing off his hands, and hurried after Sherlock who was already into the living room.

"John," Sherlock's mother called. John stopped to look to Mrs. Holmes. "You don't have to go yet, you can have a bit more if you want," she said.

"Actually, we have to finish up our chapter upstairs," Sherlock said, briefly popping his head back in the kitchen to look at his mother as he spoke.

"No, we finished for today," John said innocently. Sherlock huffed and turned around in a circle.

"It's okay, John. You sit down and eat. Sherlock, sit with your friend and wait for him," she said. Sherlock sighed and sat down again. John hesitantly sat as well, grabbing a celery stick and some hummus.

"He's only a study partner," Sherlock said under his breath.

"Please," Mrs. Holmes said sternly. Sherlock didn't look at her and stared at the vegetables in front of him. John smiled nervously.

After John had a couple more veggies, he got up and thanked Mrs. Holmes for the food. She smiled brightly back at him.

As Sherlock and him left, Mrs. Holmes tapped John on the shoulder.

"Don't mind Sherlock," she told him, "he will come around. And you can stay for dinner too." She winked. John smiled at her, then followed Sherlock back up stairs.

"So what did she tell you?" Sherlock asked him once John shut the door.

"She told me you would come around," John said honestly.

"What does that mean?" Sherlock said, looking at himself in the mirror.

"I don't know, she's your mum," John said, quieting down as he spoke. Sherlock spun around.

"Well, I think we are done," Sherlock announced. "You can go home now if you want."

"Okay, but your mom said I could stay for dinner..."

"Do what you want." Sherlock wasn't looking his way anymore. John walked over to his bag and packed his book, slinging it over his shoulder.

"I'm leaving." John left Sherlock's room.

Mrs. Holmes saw him come down the stairs.

"You're leaving John?" She said, putting down a book from her hands.

"Yeah. Thank you for everything, Mrs. Holmes," John said graciously. She smiled at him, but this time, it was sad.

"Are you sure? I'll get Sherlock to walk you part way home-"

"No, I'll be fine."

"You'll be okay?"

"Yes. See you again, maybe."

John left Sherlock's home.

-:-:-:-

Mrs. Holmes slowly opened the door to Sherlock's bedroom. She saw him laying on his bed, hands folded over his chest.

"May I come in?" She asked calmly. Sherlock continued to stare at the ceiling. She stepped inside and gently shut the door.

"One day, you are going to want a friend," she said. Sherlock looked at her.

"Are you saying I don't have any?" He said.

"Quite frankly, yes," she said. Sherlock stared at her.

"So, John doesn't count?" He said, a little softer.

"No, he doesn't," her tone becoming more sharp.

"Well, you're wrong," Sherlock said, looking back up at the ceiling. "I'm pretty sure we are friends."

"I think you need to rethink what it means to be friends," his mother said. "Because he might not be for much longer if you keep treating him like you did today."

Sherlock stayed motionless on his bed.

"I know I can't do anything to convince you, but I just wanted you to hear it out loud," his mum said, then left the room again.

"Do you want the door open?"

"No."


	7. this chapter is a lie

Hi people...

well, I'm back.

If you want me to continue this story, please say so.

I was going to discontinue this but I like it too much.

If I get over 7 reviews to continue, I'll make another chapter. Then I'll have to consider if I want to keep going or not again.

Also, in regards to the whole "this ain't no cross over", you are correct, because that is a double negative which means it IS a cross over.

It will become a lot more clear in later chapters that it is a cross over, but I don't want to give anything away by saying it will be a really obvious cross over.

Anyway, let me know if you want more...?

Ralphie 3


	8. seventh ha

Well, I'm back, cause I felt like it.

"What am I, who am I?"

Sherlock turned to see the slick hair of his frenemy.

"I'm not playing," Sherlock said slamming the lock onto his locker and storming off down the hall.

"Ah, but I know you want to, old buddy pal," Jim said racing ahead of Sherlock.

"Get out of my way," Sherlock said sternly.

"Come on, just take one guess," Jim whined. He grabbed the hand of Sherlock's which wasn't holding books and pulled it close to his chest.

"Just one guess. It doesn't even have to make sense. Just say the first thing that comes to mind," Jim pleaded, reminding Sherlock of a 4 year old asking his mother for a cookie before bedtime. Sherlock stopped struggling to pull his hand back. Jim's words rang through his head. The first thing that comes to mind...

"Fine," Sherlock said, ripping his hand from Jim's grasp. "But do you really want me to say the first thing that comes to mind?"

"Yes," Jim said with a wicked smile. Sherlock looked passed Jim's shoulder, then looked behind himself. The hall was pretty empty, only one or two people were in view. Of course, it was only 8:05, so not many people were at school anyway. Sherlock looked down the hall again, then something on the ground caught his eye. It was a small capsule-like thing with a clear lid. Smudges of red were on the inside of the cap which made it look unsanitary, but it was probably fine.

"Lipstick," Sherlock said. Jim laughed and jumped up and down.

"Wow, you are really willing to share so much with me, my old friend," Jim said after he spun around a few times and leapt around the hall a bit.

"You do realize," he said, coming close to Sherlock to whisper into his ear, despite the lack of people to listen to their conversation, "that you just gave me a summary of everything happening in your head."

"No I didn't. There is a stick of lipstick lying on the ground over there," Sherlock said as he pointed. Jim laughed again, this time it was a lot drier.

"But you found it significant enough to tell me about it, so there must be some kind of connection in your mind that made you choose lipstick," Jim whispered. He smiled then turned and walked over to the lipstick. He picked it up and uncapped it, swiping a line of red onto the back of his hand.

"This seems like a very familiar shade or red, doesn't it?" Jim said, with a light smile. Sherlock clenched his jaw. When Jim had begun to walk over to the lipstick, Sherlock had deduced who's it was and then he realized how stupid his subconscious mind was. Sherlock held his books a little tighter.

"You better return it to her," Jim said as he capped the lipstick, then tossed it to Sherlock. Sherlock caught it with his free hand and quickly pocketed it. It happened so quickly it almost seemed like a drug swap, minus the fact that the lipstick blatantly flew through the air before it seamlessly disappeared. Jim blew Sherlock a kiss as he walked away down the hall.

"Did I guess it right?" Sherlock called to Jim down the hall.

"Obviously not," Jim laughed. "Two more guesses"

-:-:-:-

John plunked himself down in a seat in social studies. The room is empty. Even Ms. Hudson isn't there yet. John puts his note book on the table and takes out a pencil from his pencil case. There were only 10 minutes until the bell went. John twiddled his thumbs in silence. Back in Rivendell High, everyone was always hanging around in classrooms, sometimes even earlier than 10 minutes. John would always show up and have to pull up a new chair because his table was always so crowded with students. It felt strange to have dead silence in the classroom. Rivendell always has a buzz to it, wherever you went.

Sherlock entered. He came in quickly and pulled a chair out beside John.

"Good morning," John greeted.

"Morning," Sherlock replied. He pulled out a newspaper from his hands. John's eyes were caught by the large bold heading.

"What's this all about," he said, reaching out for Sherlock's paper, but Sherlock grabbed the paper and flipped the page to the daily crossword.

"My usual crossword-" Sherlock began, but John had snatched the paper from his hands. "Excuse me, that was mine."

"That was my old school," John breathed. The headline read "Rivendel High closing soon due to falling enrolment". He opened to the article page and began to read.

"Give it back," Sherlock demanded. John kept reading.

"...a surprise decline in enrolment has taken Rivendell High by storm... school will be closing by late September..." John read.

"Did I forget to say please?" Sherlock retorted.

"... all students will be transferring to Baker Secondary. Idle expansion set to be completed."

"EXCUSE ME?" Sherlock ripped the newspaper from John's limp grasp and read the article.

"This is insane! Do you know how many kids that's going to be? This school is going to be cramped and lethargic and-" Sherlock ranted on and on about how bad the school was going to get. John sat there, too shook to even acknowledge Sherlock's enthusiastic hatred.

"John?"

Their eyes met.

"Are you okay?" Sherlock asked. John looked down at his lap.

"I- I really don't like my old school..." John stated. Sherlock gazed over John's inward mannerisms.

Students filed in and Mrs. Hudson was now at her desk. The bell rang and class began. They worked in silence that class.

Before he knew it, class was over. Sherlock and John went out to their lockers, John getting his gym strip and Sherlock grabbing his math textbook. As Sherlock opened his locker, a small slip of paper flew out and down to John's feet. John bent over and picked it up. It was a mini envelope with a red ink stamp in the shape of a heart where the stamp would go for a normal postal envelope.

"You dropped this," said John, showing the envelope to Sherlock. Sherlock looked at it for a moment before gently taking it from John's palm. Sherlock opened it slowly. John glanced at the envelope, trying not to be too conspicuous while doing so. Sherlock pulled out a small piece of paper, folded in half.

"Are you kidding me," Sherlock said aloud.

"What?" John said, inching closer.

"It's a riddle..." Sherlock said, gritting his teeth momentarily. "From _Jim._" John held his breath for a moment, waiting for Sherlock to elaborate. He did not.

"Is it - um - a lo-"

"Love note? I guess so. Jim is absolutely infatuated with me and it's the most annoying thing," Sherlock said, tasting the word "infatuated" on his tongue before deciding it was quite sour. He held out the letter to John. John took it from Sherlock like it was radioactive. He disliked how okay Sherlock was with Jim's antics. It was hard to be in a room with the both of them. Two minds throwing grenades at one another, one. Quite frankly, it scared John. Jim pandered and Sherlock 'refused'. It was clear that if he really wanted Jim gone he would have destroyed him earlier, but he hasn't. He lets him pander. Maybe… Maybe he kind of likes it.

John looked down at the letter and began to read:

_My dearest,_

_You've obviously been having a hard time with my simple guessing game, so I thought it would be kind of me to give you a little boost, my baby boy. _

_You've probably never heard of this one before: what's too much for one, enough for two, and too much for three?_

_Don't try and cheat, either. No internet._

_See you around school, boo._

_Jim M._

Ew. John handed Sherlock back the letter, feeling like his eyes had been tainted.

"_Obviously, _I know what it is," Sherlock announced. "Oldest one in the book. He really wanted me to figure this out quickly. But why…"

"What is it?" John asked, immediately regretting it. He probably looked pretty stupid right now. Sherlock gave him such a face, John's selfastem smashed through bedrock. Then something unexpected happened. Sherlock's face relaxed and he smiled.

"A secret," he said, looking down the hallway for no apparent reason. Sherlock looked back to him and their eyes met once again. Sherlock's normally stern and sharp features were softened, his eyes only seeing and not calculating the nature of the thing in front of them. John felt his insides turn to mush and his cheeks warmed. Suddenly, the calculations returned. John turned away, touching his cheek. Sherlock's brain began to run 300 kilometers an hour. He watched John blush and retreat from their eye contact. As Sherlock asked his question, John's heart stopped. He was frozen. He couldn't look up, he couldn't run away.

"Is there something I should know?"

"No," John lied.

The bell rang.

Dark, long hair, swept behind her as she approached Sherlock. "I believe you have something of mine?" said Irene. Sherlock pursed his lips and placed a stick of red lipstick in her hand. "Thanks," she said.

"Don't talk to Jim," Sherlock said, not looking her in the eye.

"You're not my father," she snorted. Irene kissed Sherlock on the cheek. "That would be gross." Then she walked off.

John also walked off.


End file.
